


Hypomnesia

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Dumbasses, Intentional Memory Loss, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, henry doesn't know how to cope, memory lake, oof, re-getting together sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: Anamnesisbut longer.And, obviously, with more feels.Get ready, kids.This one's a doozy.But yeah, you know how it goes.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 109
Kudos: 148





	1. From Lake to Lake

He leaves in the middle of the night as soon as Alex’s breathing has shifted to reveal that he’s dead asleep. It breaks his heart as he realizes that he knows Alex’s breathing patterns well enough to know which various stage of sleep he’s in, especially because that is, as of this moment, completely useless information. What breaks his heart more, of course, is that he’s leaving in the first place. What else can he do, though? It was never supposed to get this serious––Alex was never supposed to love him _back_. Alex _does_ love him, though. He very nearly said it only hours ago in the lake. And Henry did what he always does––he panicked and bolted.

Shaan is more than surprised to get the call that they have to leave immediately, but he asks no questions. It’s better without talking, anyway, because it gives Henry more time to think about what his next move should be. It doesn’t matter what he _wants_ anymore, just as it’s never truly mattered. Anything with Alex can’t _work_. Whatever they’ve had thus far shouldn’t have been in the first place. When Henry kissed him, Alex should have pushed him off and never spoken to him again. Alex shouldn’t have pulled him into the Red Room and kissed Henry as his very life depended on it. Everything that happened since that damn New Year’s kiss should be nothing more than a wet dream of his. It shouldn’t be _real_. And yet, somehow, it is. It’s so real that he could touch it. The memories of their time together overwhelm his senses completely. Constantly. Even when he’s not with Alex, Alex is with him in spirit or over the phone and an ocean away.

It’s the afternoon when they touch down in England. Henry hasn’t slept. How could he possibly sleep when Alex’s body comes back to him in dreams? Not even just his body, though, because that would make all of this _easier_ , wouldn’t it? If Henry only liked Alex’s body, he wouldn’t feel this fucking heartache pulse through him like a riptide that breaks his heart more with each new swell of _want_. And, _Christ_ , does he want Alex. He wants to see him in his glasses and hunched in front of a textbook with a pen between his lips. He wants to be able to take the pen out and put his own lips there instead. He wants to see Alex in every mood he’s capable of so Henry can make him smile. Make him call him “baby” again in that way that brings Henry to his fucking knees.

They’re headed back to Kensington now––headed back to a life of impersonal bedrooms and orders where Henry just does what he’s told because, without Alex, what is there left to fight for? Well, he supposes that’s not quite right. Even with Alex, there’s not much he can do. Alex ignites a fire within him that makes him _desperate_ to fight, but he’s still too afraid. He’s not half the man Alex is––he never could be. He can’t just do things like Alex does them––primally like he hardly has to think about just doing what he wants. Henry can’t just disobey everything he’s ever been ordered to do and go against everything he’s ever been taught. Alex could. Henry’s much too beaten down by now to even try and live the life he wants.

“Wait,” Henry tells Shaan who’s driving the car. “We’re not going to Kensington.”

He sees Shaan look back at him in the rearview mirror, curious and awaiting his new instruction.

“Take me to the lake,” Henry commands, his voice wobbling. "Lethe," he says, just to clarify which river he's referring to. 

“Hen––”

“Just drive, Shaan.”

So Shaan drives him there. It’s about an hour out from where they are now, so Henry has some more time to think over what exactly he’s hoping to accomplish here. He knows his dad would be furious with him for even considering the idea because his dad always hated the lake. He thought it was a temptation of sorts––its very own forbidden fruit. Memories and shortcomings and pain were the foundation of each human’s experience––how they survive their worst moments is what truly defines them as individuals. Henry would be lying if he hadn’t already considered going against his dad’s beliefs. After his dad died, the longing to just go there and forget it all was overwhelming. It was his mom who talked him out of it. It was one of the last things she said to him before she disappeared from his life.

 _“You’ll regret it, Henry,”_ she had told him, stroking his hair as he trembled and came apart in her lap. _“Once you do that sort of thing, there’s no going back. If you’re ever going to use it, use it only once. Save it for something you can’t live through––something that is tearing you apart completely.”_

 _“But mum,"_ he had protested, sniffling, _“this is tearing me apart.”_

_“No, my darling. You’ll survive this because you’ve got me and Bea and Pip to get you through it. Promise me that you’ll save it, Henry.”_

So he had promised. The words stayed in his heart. He carried them through all of the pain knowing that she was right in a way––his dad’s death did not destroy him. Years later, his heart still beats and he’s feeling more right now than he ever has before. That’s the entire bloody problem though, isn’t it? He shouldn’t be allowed to _feel_. Not this much. Not to the point where it consumes him completely and tears him apart piece by piece from the inside out. How could anything that consumed and hurts him this completely and violently be something good? It can’t be possible for him to live through this, to feel all he does for Alex, and just be fine. It hurts too much, he _feels_ too much.

This is his breaking point. This is the moment when the water swells up before it crashes down into foam before it’s just swept back up again to crash once more. It’s a never-ending cycle and he’s drowning in it. He’s lost in the current and he doesn’t have a single thing to keep him afloat. He thought that, maybe, Alex could be his lifeline or something. A very foolish part of him thought that, by some miracle, Alex would help him keep his head above water. But Alex is the one drowning him, isn’t he? Alex and his smirks and his curls and the blush on his cheeks and the way he looks when someone insults _Star Wars_. Alex and his fast mind and his fidgety hands and his fucking voice that makes Henry feel like he might just be swept up and away entirely.

Maybe the opposite is true. Maybe Henry is the weight––the ball and chain. Maybe he’s pulling Alex down beneath the waves. Honestly, does it even matter? One of them is drowning––it’s killing both of them in some way or another. And Henry can’t…he can’t _do_ this anymore.

When he gets out of the car, he goes to one of the far shores that’s currently unoccupied. He pulls a pen out of his pocket––he’s always gone one just in case––and picks up a rock. It’s a smooth stone––not too big, not too small. It’s perfect for the message he wants to write on it.

_Loving Alexander Claremont-Diaz_

He closes his eyes and turns the stone over in his hands a few times, unsure if he’s actually going to do this. While his eyes are closed, he tries to be like Alex. He tries to make a list. Maybe, if the pros outweigh the cons, he’ll throw the rock in.

_Pros:_

_1\. He can’t be publicly out_

_2\. Nothing could ever come of this, anyway_

_3\. He doesn’t even have to say anything to Alex about it––he can just ghost him and spare them both an awkward and maddening conversation_

_4\. Alex won’t have to come out_

_5\. He can carry on as he was before_

_6\. He won’t hurt so much_

_7\. He won’t feel like he’s being set on fire with the mere thought of Alex’s smile and hands and mind and every other damn thing about him_

_8\. It’ll stop all of this pain_

_Cons:_

_1\. What does he become without Alexander Claremont-Diaz in his life?_

It feels like it should be a no-brainer. His mind is telling him to just reel his arm back and hurl the thing into the glistening water. Every cell in his body is itching for him to do it. But his heart knows that it isn’t right––it knows that even this, the most amount of pain he’s ever endured, still isn’t enough to justify such a cruel and selfish act. Well, fuck his heart. It’s his heart––his foolish, unarmored heart––that got him into this mess in the first place.

Blinking back tears, he throws the rock into the lake and watches as the water comes up around it, taking it under the smooth surface of it.

He laughs at himself, at how foolish he was to not do this sooner.

When he gets back to Kensington, he goes straight to his room and locks the door. He looks around the space and opens the drawer in his nightstand, pulling out the issue of Le Monde that he took from Paris. He goes into his closet and takes out the kimono that Pez made him for LA. He sets them both on the chair by the fireplace and gets a fire going. When it’s hot and bright, he throws the objects in there and watches them burn. Then he goes through his phone and deletes all pictures of him and Alex. Then he deletes those from his recently deleted so there’s no evidence that they were ever there in the first place. Next is his Instagram––he cleans that up, too. All evidence that he was ever friendly with the White House Trio is gone. He pauses for a moment and thinks of what else he should do––what else needs to be done.

His journal. That goes in the fire, too. All files on his computer that allude to Alex are deleted and erased from existence, as are their emails. In fact, Henry blocks Alex’s email entirely. No more emails to worry about. Then come the texts which are deleted, as is Alex’s contact picture in his phone. He doesn’t erase the number, though, but it’s as if they’ve never even spoken via text. Good––it’s better that way. He checks under his bed, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything, and finds the box of campaign buttons. Those get burned, too. By the time he’s done, he’s sweaty, exhausted, and ready to go to sleep. It’s early in the evening but he hasn’t slept all day or the previous night, so he allows himself to crawl into bed, plug in his phone, and go to sleep.

And, for the first time in months, he doesn’t dream of Alex.


	2. You're Different, Henry

Someone’s shaking him awake. With a muffled, sleepy groan, he opens his eyes and finds Pez on his bed, shaking him lightly with a concerned look on his face. Henry sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He doesn’t really remember going to sleep last night or much of the day before, honestly. His back is sore––was he on a plane or something?

“Hen, it’s nearly noon,” Pez tells him.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and finds that it is, in fact, practically noon. He can’t recall the last time he ever slept this late, but he’s still exhausted. Vaguely, he recalls going to bed on the earlier side last night. How long as he slept for?

“Why are you here?”

Pez sighs and lies down next to him so Henry sinks back under the covers and turns his head to face him. It’s the most nervous he’s ever seen Pez, actually. He looks like he’s worried or anxious or something but Henry has no idea why.

“I was worried about you. Bea called me yesterday to let me know you’d come home. Early.”

“Early from what?” Henry asks. “Did I get drunk last night? I can’t remember a bloody thing.”

Pez frowns at him. “I mean, maybe you did. I don’t know. I––Hen, you know you can tell me things, right?”

Henry stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. He comes up empty. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay,” Pez sighs, readjusting himself on the bed, tucking his hands under his head. “So what happened with Alex?”

Henry can’t help but scoff. “What, the American bloke? Nothing.”

It looks like Pez has just heard something foul or morbid. His eyes widen and he turns a bit pale. It’s terrifying. “Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” he says as if Henry doesn’t know who he’s talking about. “You––Is this a game? A secret code, perhaps? Did something happen and you want me to stop talking about it?”

Just as Henry opens his mouth to say something, his phone buzzes. He picks it up and sees that, for some unknown reason, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is calling him. Shooting a confused look over at Pez, he answers it.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice asks on the other end. He sounds upset and frantic.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You––you just left? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve called the wrong person, Alex. I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other end. “You have no idea? _Really_? I swear to God, if you don’t––”

“Don’t call this number again,” Henry snaps, quite finished with this ridiculous conversation. Before Alex has the chance to say another word, Henry hangs up and throws his phone onto the bed like it’s burned him. He looks over to Pez who is still staring at him like he’s an alien or something.

“Is this some sort of elaborate prank?” Henry asks.

Pez blinks back at him. “Hen, what’s going on? I––what happened yesterday?”

“I don’t bloody remember, Pez. And I don’t understand why you keep asking me like something important happened that I don’t recall. You know how it is for me––days blend together sometimes.”

Unconvinced, Pez continues to stare at him. “Why did you just hang up on him like that?”

Henry can’t help but let out a groan in annoyance. “What _is_ your obsession with him? Seriously, Pez. He may be attractive, I’ll give you that much, but he’s loud and obnoxious. Also, from what I recall of him, very straight. Perhaps you should find someone else to set your sights on, hm?”

He gets out of bed and realizes, for some reason, that he’s fully-clothed. It’s some of his travel clothes––comfortable yet stylish. So he did go on a plane yesterday. Well, the only problem is that he can’t remember where he came from. Perhaps Shaan could fill him in on this if he asks. For now, he focuses on getting dressed into something more suitable for the day. Pez watches as he undresses then changes into fresh clothes, still looking annoyed and surprised. It’s making Henry feel like an idiot for some reason.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks, turning back around as he ties his tie. He looks down at the tie, thinking it might be something there, and sees that it’s _patterned_. Christ, where did this thing even come from? He can’t wear patterns––Royals aren’t supposed to make statements. He quickly unties it and throws it in the bin before going back and retrieving one of his patented plain ties.

“You’re different,” Pez accuses. “Something’s off. Are you _sure_ that nothing bad happened at the lake?”

“What lake?” Henry asks him, throwing his hands in the air defeatedly. “What are you talking about?”

“The lake house?” Pez asks as if that makes any of this any clearer. “With Alex?”

Henry snorts at the accusation. “Pez, you know I love your creative mind, but that’s a stretch even for you. Are you even hearing yourself? Why would I ever be at a lake house with Alex? We hate each other.”

“Hen––”

“No,” Henry snaps, glaring at him. “I’ve had enough of this conversation, all right? Stop asking me questions you already know the answers to.”

Well, that shuts Pez up. While he may live for drama, Henry knows that, above all, he wants to keep Henry safe and protected. They’ve been through a lot over the years and Pez knows that, when Henry takes that tone with him, he really can’t stomach another moment of whatever conversation they’re having. So Pez backs off and tries to lighten the mood by making stupid jokes, and Henry tries to laugh along the best he can.

There’s something missing though, isn’t there? It feels like he’s forgotten something important. He doesn’t want to ask Pez about it, though, so he keeps the thought to himself while he tries to think of everyone’s birthdays and possible anniversaries or something he might be missing. It doesn’t seem like he’s forgotten anything but he _feels_ like he has. Something very, very important. It’s like there’s an empty spot in his mind––like he’s seeing everything behind a veil. And he has no idea what he’s missing. Well, it’s fine. He figures it’ll pass soon enough. It’s probably just the aftermath of whatever he drank last night.

The thing is, though, that he isn’t hungover. He feels fine. A bit sleepy, a bit like he’s living some sort of false, incomplete life, but certainly not hungover. There’s no headache or strange sickness about him. It’s just Henry, now on his way to see Bea, and the feeling of a phantom touch on his shoulder and someone murmuring, most peculiarly, “baby” in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	3. Revenge

To say Alex is losing his fucking mind would be the understatement of the goddamn century. It’s been a week of nothing from Henry. Well, actually, it’d probably be better if it was actually nothing from Henry. Stupidly, Alex almost decided to storm Kensington when he found that fucking note in his kimono from L.A., but the call with Henry snapped him out of any such ideas and brought him back to reality. And, well, the reality of this is that it fucking sucks. It _hurts_. It hurts more than anything has a right to because he and Henry weren’t even really _dating_ , for fuck’s sake. Except that they totally were. They were in _love_ , weren’t they? After months of emails and texts and heated sexual escapades, they had both fallen. Or, at least, Alex had fallen. Hard. Henry had fallen…well, softer. If at all.

Nora and June keep trying to come in but Alex has locked and barricaded the door. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept or ate. The last time he closed his eyes brought nothing but misfortunate. Henry was waiting for him there. Henry and his damned smile and his big heart and his beautiful fingers. And he held Alex’s heart in his hands. It was raw––bleeding. Beating for Henry and Henry alone. And Henry looked up at him and, for a moment, Alex thought that he would give it back. Or that he would take his own heart out of his chest and give it to Alex. Instead, Henry clenched his fists around Alex’s heart before tearing it apart completely. It fell to the floor. Alex screamed at him––begged him to give it back. And Henry opened his shirt and showed Alex his own heart. It had turned to stone.

Needless to say, Alex gave up on sleep after that. How was he supposed to sleep when Henry was always there waiting for him? Not that it’s even confined to dreams. No, that would be too kind, wouldn’t it? So Henry seeks him in the day, too. He whispers things in Alex’s ear while he tries to work. Phantom touches leave chilling gooseflesh on Alex’s back. On his head. On every fucking part of him that’s now tainted with the memory of Henry’s flesh having been there before. It hurts and Alex is miserable and he thinks, maybe, that he’s going insane.

While Alex often prides himself on his ability to function on no sleep and just a bunch of coffee, it comes to a head one afternoon. He can’t even remember what happened, just that June was crying outside his door and her cries were getting to be unbearable for him. He un-barricaded and unlocked the door, looked at her tear-stained face in the hallway, and instantly collapsed before he even managed to say anything.

He wakes up in a hospital with June, Leo, and his mom by his side. They’re worried––of course they are. The doctor tells him that he’s sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and malnourished. As soon as the doctor leaves, his family bombards him with questions that come too fast for his groggy mind to answer. How long has he been like this? He doesn’t know. Has he had any water since he locked himself in his room? Maybe, but he doesn’t remember specifics. Has he eaten a single thing since coming back from the lake? He doesn’t think so. Why did this happen? Is he okay?

“He left,” he tells him in a broken sob. “He––he just left me. And I called him. I tried to understand but he…he’s pretending we don’t even _know_ each other. It’s––I can’t do it. It’s too much. My brain never shuts up anymore.”

They get him some sedatives for the time being so he can make up for the sleep he’s been missing out on for so long. They keep him there for two days to give him plenty of fluids. He goes through about fifteen IV bags. When they finally let him leave, his family brings him back home, sets him up in his bed, and leaves him alone with June and Nora to discuss everything in more depth. He hasn’t talked much since he admitted what happened to them at the hospital, so they’re very clearly hoping that June and Nora will be able to pry some information out of him. His door is open now––he doesn’t get privacy because they can’t trust him to not do this to himself again.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” he tells June and Nora as soon as they’re alone in his room. There’s a girl on either side of him, holding him close like he might just drift away if they let him go.

“Are you sure?” June asks, her face pressed against his chest.

“I swear. I––the days just got away from me.”

They’re all quiet for a moment.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Nora asks in a soft voice. It makes him cringe to hear it. It makes him feel like he’s broken.

“You were there,” he mumbles. “You know he left.”

“And you called him? And he answered?”

He nods. “He pretended like he didn’t know me. Like I was…I don’t know. Like I had the wrong number or something. Honestly, ghosting me would’ve been better. It’s like…it happened, right? We were a thing?”

“Of course,” June assures him, squeezing him reassuringly. “And I’m sorry that he…is there anything we can do? You want me to get some ice cream and we can all watch some sad movies or something?”

He shakes his head. “No. I––He doesn’t get to do this to me. I won’t _let_ him do this to me.”

To June and Nora, it must seem like a half-hearted promise. Something his groggy, drugged-up mind conjured up. But for Alex, it’s a vow. Henry is not going to break his heart and walk away. If Henry wants to pretend like they didn’t know each other––didn’t know every fucking thing about each other––fine. Alex can’t stop him. Henry’s made it very obvious that he wants nothing to do with Alex so, logically, Alex could accept that. Alex should listen to Henry’s cryptic-ass words and back the fuck off. It’s what any normal person would do, right? Well, Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz isn’t just a normal person. And he’s going to make damn sure that Henry knows that.

Henry doesn’t want to see him?

 _Fuck_ Henry.

Alex is going to make sure Henry has to see his smug face every time he turns on his fucking laptop and goes online.

It starts with the campaign. Alex puts the work in. Since he’s no longer with Henry, his mom lets him start working again. So he works his fucking ass off. He puts in the time and gets everything right so she can win. And, in the middle of that, he makes a decision. Law School. So he sits his family down with Oscar on Skype and tells him his plans for it. NYU, he thinks. Maybe Colombia if he can hack it. They’re all excited for him because, for them, this means that he’s back to being Alex again. The mourning for his relationship is over. It is, he supposes, in a way. It’s not mourning anymore––it’s fucking revenge.

In a November, his mom wins the election. Four more years of Claremont in the White House. There’s a big celebration for it and everyone’s cheering and happy, but Alex can’t help but miss Henry’s presence. Henry should be here, he thinks. If they were still together, maybe Henry would be here to celebrate with them. Maybe Alex could show Henry his old house or something––maybe Henry would like to see that part of him.

But Henry isn’t here, so Alex stays at the party the whole time. He doesn’t even go back to see his old house. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it yet. He’s got more to accomplish before he goes.

There’s some sort of diplomatic event in December that he has to attend. He’s working in New York until he applies to law school, so he takes time off and goes to D.C. for it since it’s at the White House. He’ll have to be there for the Gala on New Year’s, anyway. So he plays nice with the diplomats as he anxiously waits for the Gala because, secretly, he’s invited Henry. He’s on the guest list from last year and Alex has no idea if he’s actually going to come, but he’s holding out hope that Pez will drag him here for it.

On the night of the Gala, he dresses up in the outfit he purchased for this specific event. White-collared shirt, maroon suit, and a Star Wars tie. He greets the guests nervously as they come in, anxious to see if Pez and, more importantly, Henry will be in attendance.

“Oh, Pez, so good to see you!” June coos from next to him as he’s shaking hands with some actress from _Riverdale_. He turns and sees Pez, dressed to the nines in a vintage blue suit, with someone lurking in the shadowy light behind him. Alex squints and sees a familiar head of blond hair.

It’s all going exactly to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr! come yell at me!


	4. No Peace for a Stubborn Heart

“Hi,” Alex says, extending his hand to Henry.

With a raised eyebrow, Henry takes it. “I was surprised to be invited,” Henry tells him as Pez, June, and Nora catch up with Pez.

“You came last year,” Alex says. “Thought it might be, I dunno, nice to do it again.”

Henry frowns like he has no idea what Alex is talking about. “Right. Well, I’ll just…”

He starts to walk away and Alex watches as he goes, annoyed to the tips of his fucking fingers. How dare Henry come in here looking like that and pretend that Alex is just someone he vaguely knows? The anger fills him up so completely that it carries him over to the bar where he finds Henry chatting to some dude that’s the son of some famous actor or something. The worst part is that the guy Henry’s talking to––with shaggy hair and an endearing grin and a bit of stubble––is really attractive. And Henry touches the guy’s shoulder like Alex isn’t very obviously glaring at him. And, honestly, it’s not even a sexy kind of touch. And the guy might not even be gay. But still. The small touch makes Alex’s blood boil.

He orders a whiskey. A strong one. It’s gone pretty quickly so he orders another and another, hoping that one of them will make this fucking feeling go away. They don’t, though. If anything, they only heighten the anger bubbling up in his stomach. He’s probably had too much whiskey since he can’t seem to really remember how he got onto the dance floor, but he’s not about to fight the feeling. He lets himself get lost in the music for a moment, hoping that it’ll put his brain on pause, when someone bumps into him.

“Woah, man,” Alex says as he turns around to speak to the offender.

He finds Henry there looking flushed and tipsy. “Sorry.”

Henry turns away to keep dancing somewhere else, but Alex grabs his hand. “We need to talk,” he says, his words slurring together. Though Henry’s tipsy, he catches Alex’s slurring and raises an eyebrow at him. One of his goddamn, perfectly plucked eyebrows. It makes Alex want to kiss it––to take it between his teeth.

“I don’t think we do,” Henry tells him.

A growl erupts from Alex as he drags Henry off the dance floor, down a hallway, and shoves him into the closest room he can find. It’s small––a closet, he thinks. He doesn’t really care enough. Instead of talking, he shoves Henry against the door, closing it. He leans up and into Henry’s personal space, looking into his eyes in hopes of finding some sort of answer there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Henry huffs, sticking his chin out.

“I need to you to tell me,” Alex whispers in the minimal space between them, “that you’re done with me.”

The words, for some reason, make Henry’s entire face contort in confusion. “What?”

Alex groans and moves his hands down from Henry’s chest to his hips, holding him firmly there. “Tell me that you’re over me.”

“Ale––”

He slots himself between Henry’s legs, grinding into him a bit. “I need to hear you fucking say it,” he seethes. “I need you to look into my eyes and say it because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”

For a moment, Henry groans at the contact. His eyes flutter shut.

Alex thinks he’s winning––thinks that his dare is going to work in his favor. “Tell me,” he whispers, his lips catching on Henry’s earlobe, “that you don’t feel anything for me anymore.”

Henry shoves Alex off of him in one swift motion, making Alex stumble back and into what feels like a bunch of jackets.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Henry says. His words are tight and clipped. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. We have never been together. We will never be together. I’m not gay and, even if I was, I would never consider you in such a way. Stay away from me, Alex. If you come near me again, I’ll ensure that you regret it.”

With a final glare in Alex’s direction, Henry opens the door and steps out to rejoin the party, leaving Alex alone in the dark room. He stands and shoves the jackets off.

His first instinct is to follow Henry. That’s always been his instinct, even when he hated him. Chasing after Henry is like second nature to him. It’s nearly impossible for him to actually process what just happened and fight the urge to go after him. Henry, it seems, doesn’t want him anymore. And if that’s the case––if Henry just doesn’t love him––then Alex will have to live with that. No more texting or calling or sending selfies at weird hours. If Henry genuinely doesn’t want Alex anymore, Alex won’t push him. He’s not going to be _that_ guy.

Instead, he’s going to be the guy that makes Henry live to regret breaking up with him. He’s going to continue living his life and doing big, noteworthy things that makes Henry see what he’s missing out on.

The rest of the month passes in a haze. He’s drowning himself in work to keep his mind busy––too busy to think about Henry and his stupid face and his words that cut Alex deeper than anything he could have imagined. Fuck Henry. Fuck England. Fuck it all.

He’s getting used to the ache in his heart––the gaping hole in the shape of Henry. It’s fine. He’ll survive. But one day, a call comes through that brings him right back into it.

It’s Bea, somehow. He doesn't know if he should answer it––he's never been super close with Bea. 

He picks it up, though, just in case something’s wrong. Even if Alex is heartbroken, he still cares so deeply for Henry that it physically hurts knowing that Henry doesn’t have anyone to listen to him like Alex used to.

“Hey, Bea,” Alex says when he answers.

“Alex, hi,” Bea says from somewhere in Kensington, probably. “I––I know this is a bit strange, but I just wanted to ask if something happened with Henry?”

Alex feels his heart start pounding in his chest at the implications. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he…ever since he came back from your lake house all those months ago, he’s been different. It’s worse now though, I think. He’s not even himself.”

Alex sighs and leans back against the pillows on his bed. “Yeah, I know. I––he broke up with me a while ago. At the lake house.”

Bea is silent for a moment. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Alex admits.

And that, he thinks, is the worst part. The not knowing. If he had done something wrong, he wouldn’t be feeling this way. If he knew exactly why Henry broke things off, he wouldn’t have this desperate need for closure. Closure that Henry won’t fucking give him.

“It’s like he doesn’t remember you at all,” Bea explains. “Any time your name is mentioned, it’s like…it’s almost like he’s broken. And I haven’t got a clue on how to fix him.”

Alex closes his eyes. “Yeah. I…I don’t know what to say, Bea. He broke up with me and it sucks but he won’t tell me why or even talk to me. It feels like he doesn’t even think we were in a relationship. Or, ya know, whatever we were.”

“He loved you,” Bea chimes in. “I know he did. He talked about you constantly, even before you got together. So I find it difficult to believe that he would just stop mentioning you completely now that you’re broken up. I know him and I know that he tends to hold onto these sorts of things––big emotions like that.”

Alex sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, seeing Henry behind his eyelids. It’s painful to talk about him like this––it hurts to talk to his sister and figure out what exactly happened between them. He has no idea what happened and, unless Henry decides to start providing some insight, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get to know. And maybe Alex should just move on or something like any normal person would, but Henry ruined relationships for him. No matter how hard he tries, he knows that he’ll ever find someone that fits with him as well as Henry did. Only Henry understands him in his entirety and sees him as a normal person, not just the First Son.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Bea. We can’t force him to open up about this. It’s pretty clear that he wants nothing to do with me and I…I’m gonna have to respect that. Even if it fucking sucks.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Alex pictures her pacing through the rooms she and Henry share, maybe with Mr. Wobbles under her arm. “For what it’s worth,” she tells him, “I’m rooting for you two.”

A teary scoff escapes him. “There’s no us anymore,” Alex admits. “And I gotta go. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

He hangs up and throws his phone down on the bed, pulling the blankets up over him and burrowing into them like, somehow, a cocoon of blankets will protect him from his own stubborn heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	5. What's the Name? What's the Feeling?

Something feels wrong. Maybe it’s felt wrong for a while, but Henry’s really starting to notice it now. He notices it when Pez drags him to a club and there’s a name on the tip of his tongue––a feeling that he can’t quite place. He notices it when he goes up to a handsome guy and kisses him, and when that kiss feels wrong. When it makes him feel like there’s bile crawling up his throat. It’s like there’s something he’s missing––like there’s someone he’s supposed to be here with instead. It’s like there’s a massive, gaping hole in his heart and his mind and there’s no hope of filling them again.

He thinks he might be going crazy. There’s a name on the tip of his tongue––a feeling right at the surface that he just can’t access. What name? What feeling? Who’s missing from his life?

It haunts him. It haunts him all the way through the rest of the winter. Then the spring. It haunts him, especially, when he sees Alex Claremont-Diaz’s face pop up on his phone when he goes to check the news. He’s starting law school, it seems. NYU. For some reason, it makes him feel hollow inside to see Alex doing so fucking well. It makes him want to punch him in the face, maybe. Maybe it makes him want to kiss him. He doesn’t know––his emotions don’t feel right anymore. Every day feels weird like he’s living it through some sort of haze that he can’t seem to pull himself out of.

What’s the name?

What’s the feeling?

He doesn’t get invited to the New Year’s Gala again. He doesn’t know if that bothers him or not. He does know that Alex looks amazing in his blue suit. He knows that something ignites in him when he sees a picture of Alex kissing some girl at the party.

What’s the feeling?

Philip calls him into a room one day to talk to him about his life. He says that Henry needs to do something––that this “gap year” has gone on long enough.

“I have a plan, Philip,” Henry tells him.

Philip raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, do you, now? And what might that be, Henry?”

Henry balls his fists, clenching them so hard that the knuckles turn white. “I’m going to––”

There’s a name on the tip of his tongue. Someone’s name––someone that would give him the fire and the courage to say something.

What’s the name?

What’s the feeling?

He leans back in his chair, coming up short. He thinks he’d like to be a writer. He thinks he might want to help Pez run his youth shelters, but he knows that neither of those things are options for him. To help Pez, he would have to come out to his family. And he can’t do that––they would tear him apart. To be a writer, he would have to have something he could publish. Anything he finds worth publishing would out him, too. He’s out of options.

“You’re going to need to figure it out, Henry,” Philip warns. “Soon.”

He goes to his mother’s door after that conversation. He stands outside of it for five minutes, looking at the ornate doorknob. It’s the same doorknob on every other bloody door in this dreadful palace and yet, he finds it fascinating right now. Why can’t he just bring himself to knock? Why can’t he just muster up the courage to knock on her door and say something to her? He hasn’t seen her in ages. He wonders if she’s different now. If maybe she’s ready to be a part of his life again. If he could bring himself to knock, maybe he could find out.

He doesn’t knock, though. Instead, he walks away and shuts himself in his room with David, resigning to eat Jaffa Cakes and watch Netflix for the rest of the day.

A few weeks later, he decides to Google what he’s feeling. He’s expecting to come up short, but he finds a few semi-promising results. There are pages about memory loss which he doesn’t think he has, pages about illnesses that cause the feelings he’s noticing which, given the fact that he recently got a check-up, he knows he doesn’t have. The only page that makes him pause is one about the lake––Lethe. It says that people who have visited there, people that have thrown rocks in, sometimes feel like they’re missing something. It also says there’s no cure for it. Eventually, he brushes that aside, too. He’s never been to Lethe and he’s never had anything so terrible happen that he would feel the need to go forget it. Plus, someone would have taken him there. Someone would have told him that he had gone there.

One morning, a few months later, he wakes up with a voicemail on his phone. It’s from Alex, which he finds odd, but he plays it anyway.

“Hey, H. It’s Alex. I’ve had some whiskey and I might not be making any sense but, please, just stay with me. Look, I know that…I know that you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t know what I did or what happened, but I know that you can’t even stand the sight of me these days. And I’ve been trying so fucking hard to get over you but…I miss you, H. I see you in my dreams and in my classes. I see you all the time. And this’ll be the last time I try to talk to you, I promise, but I just…I wanted you to know that shit’s been rough without you. But I really hope you’re doing well and that you’re not letting your family push you around too much. You deserve the world, sweetheart, even if your world doesn’t include me these days.”

The voicemail ends like that and Henry just stares at his phone for a moment. He’s not sure what hearing this makes him feel. Certainly confused. Maybe, for some reason, heartbroken. It’s something he doesn't quite understand––how Alex can make him feel so many things when he doesn’t even know him.

What’s the feeling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


	6. Ice Cream and Netflix (And an Important Revelation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short filler-type stuff but important!!! sorry, I just wanted to get to the next chapter fihfiofofihf

Alex gets drunk and goes out with people that are, decidedly, not his friends. It’s the first week of law school so he figures that he’s allowed to do this sort of thing, especially with Cash standing nearby and watching him intently to make sure he doesn’t die or anything. The bar is loud and chaotic and, Alex hopes, the exact kind of place that can knock his life back into place. It’s wishful thinking, probably, since even music this loud can’t seem to penetrate the constant wall of thoughts clogging his mind. But, oh God, how great would it be if this sort of thing was the answer? If making out with one of these other people here would just make all of his problems go away? Maybe he can forget about Henry tonight. Maybe, with enough vodka, the flashes of his eyes and smile and ass will just fade away. Even for a while.

As it turns out, making out with random people doesn’t help him at all. It makes him go to the bathroom and throw up into one of the gross toilets like he’s a freshman in college all over again who can’t hold his drinks. He’s hunched over the toilet, trying to take deep breaths, when someone knocks on his stall door. 

“Occupied,” he mumbles breathlessly, still feeling like he might throw up. 

“It’s Cash,” he says. 

Alex groans and, keeping his head near the toilet, uses his nearly useless arm to unlock the stall door. 

“I got everyone out,” Cash tells him. “It’s just you and me.”

Alex shoots him a thumb’s up without moving his face. He’s too afraid he’ll vomit if he moves. 

Cash sighs and there’s the distinct sound of his feet shuffling across the disgusting bathroom floor. Suddenly, there’s a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?” 

“Whatever’s got you like this. Since you haven’t seen Henry in a while, I’m assuming it’s got something to do with him.” 

Alex sighs and, using all his strength, swivels to face Cash. It’s almost funny how Cash is such a big part of his life but how he never really talks to him like this. Maybe he should start talking to him more––he did sign an NDA, after all. Maybe he could provide some kind of useful insight or a perspective that Alex hasn’t looked at all of this from yet. 

“I need to get over it,” Alex says. “It’s been months. Over a year, actually. I should…fuck, Cash, why does it still _hurt_ so much?”

Inexplicably, he feels like he might start crying. 

It’s impossible to push all of this pain away. He’s tried. For an entire year, he’s tried to do just that. Drowning himself in work didn’t help. Nothing fucking helped. And now he’s here and on the brink of tears in a bar bathroom because he can’t just get the fuck over this and move on like any normal person would. They weren’t even _dating_. How is it possible for it to hurt so much a year later? It makes him sick to think of himself as some sort of lovesick kid that’s hanging onto a person he didn’t even have a real relationship with. Friends with blowjobs––that’s all they were. Except for the very important fact that they were so much fucking more than that. Henry was his entire world––his reason to smile most of the time. Without Henry, his life would be so different now, wouldn’t it? 

“Because you love him,” Cash offers, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “And that doesn’t stop just because the relationship is over.” 

“We didn’t even have a relationship,” Alex cries, feeling the tears start to roll down his cheeks. 

“We both know that’s not true.” 

Alex wipes his eyes and flushes the toilet. “Can you take me home?” 

“Of course.” 

Cash gets him out of the bar through the back door so no one sees the state he’s in. There are tear streaks down his face and more tears building up in his eyes. His hair is a mess. His shirt is stained with vomit. This has to be one of the lowest points in his life––it has to be his rock bottom. 

There’s a box of Helados waiting on his counter when he stumbles into his apartment. He squints at it to make sure it’s real and not some sort of drunken mirage, but it’s really there. And, resting on top of the box, is a sticky note. 

**You’re Alexander Fucking Claremont-Diaz. You got this. -Z**

He smiles and puts the box in the freezer, sticking the note onto the door. He stares at it for a moment––at the words scribbled onto the little pink pad. For some reason, it makes him feel empowered in a way. It makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to come back from all of this. If this is, in fact, his rock bottom, at least there’s good news. There’s only up from here. 

He gives the ice cream five minutes to get cold enough to eat before he tears open the box and brings it to the couch. With the ice cream in hand, he picks up the remote and turns the TV to Netflix. It seems like a sit-com kind of night so he’s ready to turn on _Parks and Rec_ , but Netflix seems to have other plans for him. At the top of his home screen is a trailer for some sort of romance movie that looks mildly intriguing, so he turns it on. Since he’s got ice cream at the ready and tissues on the coffee table, he feels like he might be ready to finally watch a romance movie, even if it just reminds him of Henry. 

The premise turns out to be something completely eye-opening. The main character––a young woman––thinks that her boyfriend is dead. In light of that, she goes to Lethe to forget him. But he’s actually _not_ dead, so he comes back to find her and she has no idea who he is.   
Suddenly, everything makes sense. 

Lethe. 

It’s the only explanation. 

Henry must have gone there after the lake house––he must have written something down on a rock and thrown it into the water. Something about Alex and their relationship, probably. But the specifics don’t even matter because Alex has cracked the fucking code and he suddenly knows exactly how to fix all of this. So he texts Bea and explains his theory, suggesting that she could take Henry there to see if it sparks any memories. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll go and remember throwing the rock in. Even just remembering that he _had_ a relationship with Alex would be better than this bullshit right now, because then Alex can help him remember the details. They could fall in love all over again––maybe in a shorter time this go around. Because Alex thinks he’s going crazy with missing him.


	7. Upon the Rocky Shore

When Bea suggests a day trip to Lethe, Henry doesn’t exactly oppose. It’s been a long few months for him and he thinks that a little trip with his two favorite people in the world––Bea and Pez––is exactly what he needs. He’s never actually been to the lake before, so he’s sort of excited to see it with his own eyes. It’s in Buzzfeed’s Top Ten Places to See Before You Die article, so he figures that it will be a nice excursion. They call ahead to make sure they can close it to the public for the time that they’re there, and the Park Ranger is more than happy to comply, asking them to let her know if there’s anything she can do to make their journey more pleasant. So they file into Shaan’s car and let him whisk them off to Lethe for the afternoon with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine packed and ready for when they arrive. 

When they get out of the car, Henry is breathless at the sight set before him. There’s the massive, glimmering lake in the center of the park, surrounded by thousands of small rocks upon its shore. Surrounding the lake is a ring of grass and beautiful, ancient trees that provide lovely shade on this sunny day. With a smile, he follows Pez and Bea to a nice spot by the rocky shore where they set up a blanket and the contents of their picnic basket. Bea sips on her sparkling apple juice while Henry and Pez start in on the wine whilst munching on lovely Parisian cheeses and perfectly salted crackers. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Henry marvels, his eyes catching on the beams of sunlight dancing across the water’s surface. “It’s hard to believe that a place full of such darkness can look so beautiful.” 

“Darkness?” Bea inquires, popping a grape into her mouth. 

Henry shrugs, unsure of how to express what he means into words. It’s often the case these days, he supposes. There are so many half-finished, jumbled up thoughts and feelings floating around his brain that he hardly knows where to begin with them, let alone how to express them out loud. For some unknown reason, Alex is one of these invasive thoughts on a near-daily basis––always there with his stupid curls and his smart mouth. He takes a deep breath and shoves all thoughts about the stupid First Son aside, choosing to focus on the moment in front of him, instead. 

“Mum talked to me about it,” Henry admits. “It was after Dad…she told me to never come here unless something was tearing me apart.” He takes a deep breath, happy to feel Bea’s hand slip into his own while he tries to think about what he wants to say. “It doesn’t quite make sense to me, I don’t think. How people can just _come_ here and throw away parts of themselves like this.” 

“So,” Bea says, cautiously, “you would never come here?” 

He looks out at the water again––the crystal clear water that shines in dark beauty. The hidden secrets buried below the surface. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he decides. “If Dad’s death wasn’t enough to force me to come here, I don’t think anything could be. That was…it was the hardest thing I’ve had to go through.” 

Bea doesn’t seem particularly pleased with his answer, but he doesn’t understand why. 

“I think some people come here for silly things,” Pez says. “Forgetting drunken stupidity, hook-ups, that sort of thing.” 

Henry hums in agreement. He thinks about it for a moment––about all of the forgotten stories that the lake has swallowed whole. Stories that reside in bits and pieces on the rocks upon the shore, telling snippets of thousands of lives. He stands, offering Bea and Pez his hands. “Let’s go see what people have forgotten,” he suggests, “so we’re grateful for what we remember.” 

Bea and Pez agree and, together, the three of them go towards the shoreline. The rocks are uneven and strange under Henry’s feet, but he manages to walk through him, stopping to pick up a few with writing on their surfaces. He finds one that he finds entertaining––someone with terrible handwriting to wanted to forget ‘That bitch, Sarah.’ He laughs and shows it to Pez and Bea and the three of them decide to play a game––whoever finds the silliest thing wins. So they go off in different directions in hopes of finding the most ridiculous ‘bad memory’ that they can find here. There are so many to choose from, though, which makes it quite impossible to decide on one alone. Someone wants to forget about Pizza Hut, someone else wants to forget about ‘The Great Vomit Incident of 2012.’ One person dares to forget the entire decade of the 80s, for some reason that Henry can’t even begin to imagine. Some of them are more serious, though. Some of them are about death and old pets and times of great upheaval in that person’s life. When he sees the ones about death in particular, he finds himself so grateful that he himself did not come here and ask to forget about his dad. While knowing him and losing him hurts, he thinks that not knowing him would hurt more. Losing those parts of himself that his dad helped him cultivate would change who he is as a person. He doesn’t think he’d like the person he is without his dad’s presence somewhere in both his memories and his heart. 

He’s got the 80’s on in his hand, sure that it’s the best one he’ll find, when he nearly trips over another rock. There’s writing on it so he bends down and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. It’s in a handwriting he instantly recognizes as his own, but he doesn’t recall writing the words he sees on the stone. The words make him pause––make his breath hitch in his throat. He turns the rock over and over in his hands, wondering if it’s maybe just someone else with very similar handwriting to his own that could have written it. But, when he thinks about it for a moment, he thinks it makes sense.

His hands are shaking as he returns to the picnic blanket, the rock still in his grasp. Bea and Pez are already seated and looking at each other’s finds and laughing about them, but they stop laughing as soon as they seem him approaching. 

Bea is on her feet in an instant, wrapping an arm around his trembling shoulder. “Hen? What’s happened?” 

She helps him sit down, her arm still around him. He flattens his shaking palm so the rock is visible for them to see. 

_Loving Alexander Claremont-Diaz_

“Oh, darling,” Pez gasps, reading the words. 

Henry shakes his head. Words are tumbling and falling in his throat, making it tight and painful. “You,” he begins. He tries again. “Did you…know?” 

Pez shakes his head, his brown eyes wide and terrified. “I had no idea you came here,” he promises.

“Did I…I loved him?” 

Pez and Bea share a nervous glance before they both nod. 

“You two were an item,” Bea explains, rubbing circles on his back.

“Then why did I write this?” Henry asks, his voice a hoarse whisper. 

He’s short-circuiting. He doesn’t understand this––how could he? Why would he want to forget loving someone? Someone who he was actually _with_? It doesn’t make any sense. He’s spent his whole life feeling like he doesn’t deserve love so, if he finally had that, why would he give it away? But maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe he was head over heels for Alex but Alex didn’t return such feelings. Maybe it hurt him too much to be in a one-sided relationship. 

“Oh,” he realizes, blinking, “he didn’t love me back.” 

“That’s not true, darling,” Pez insists. “I think you wrote it _because_ he loved you back.”

Henry glares at him, suddenly feeling angry. He jumps up, pacing in front of them. “Why would I do this, then?” he asks to no one in particular. “If he loved me and I loved him, why would I want to forget everything?” 

“I think you were scared,” Bea chimes in, her voice calm and steady. A tether. 

“Christ,” Henry groans, still pacing. “He’s––Why––Where is he?” 

Bea and Pez stare up at him, obviously not following his train of thought here. 

“What?” Pez asks. 

“Alex,” Henry says, his voice full of a thousand emotions that he can’t even begin to understand, “where is he?” 

“New York,” Bea says, “I think.” 

Henry nods, unsure of what to do with that information. 

No. 

He knows what he has to do. 

It’s what he should have done the first moment Alex called him and they had that strange conversation where Henry was sure he had dialed the wrong number. 

“We’re leaving,” he insists.

“Where are we going?” Pez asks, even though he’s already putting everything back into the picnic basket. 

“We’re going to Kensington,” Henry decides, “then I’m going to New York.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr


	8. When Did We Fall In Love?

It’s been a long day of classes for Alex. He had a test and a paper due and, by the time he gets home, all he wants to do is crawl into bed. But his week is still going and there’s still so much he needs to get done. Law school is harder than he thought it would be, but he thinks it might have been easier if Henry had been around for it. If they were still together, Henry could kiss him when he came home and they could work side by side and order pizza and watch _Bake Off_ for a study break. But, as it stands, Alex is alone and isolated in his small, New York City apartment. And it sucks. And he’s miserable. And Henry doesn’t remember that they were ever together.

He gravitates to the sofa with a cup of coffee in hand and his laptop in his lap while he tries to power through the rest of his homework for the day, even getting a head start on assignments due next week. Rain thumps and thuds against his window, proving a nice, calming environment for him to buckle down and get shit done. He doesn’t even know what time it is––only that it’s dark outside. His glasses are on and his hair is a mess and he’s in sweats and one of his NYU shirts while he works. He can’t remember the last time he showered or ate a real meal. Fuck, he’s a mess. 

Some amount of time later, the buzzer goes off. He figures it’s June or Nora or something, here for some sort of impromptu check-in since they’re both in town for a few days for some random event or another. He goes to the buzzer and holds down the button.

“Hello?” he asks. 

There’s nothing for a moment, then static. Then a voice he never expected to hear here at his apartment building.

“Hi, Alex,” that familiar voice says. “It’s Henry. Er, Prince Henry? Of Wales?” 

Alex groans and considers banging his head into the wall. He presses the button again. “What do you want?” 

“I wondered if I could, erm, come upstairs? I want to talk to you.” 

Alex rolls his eyes and presses the button that lets him up before he moves through the living space to clean it a bit. He pours himself a glass of Maker’s and, for Henry, a glass of water. He doesn’t understand why Henry is here right now. Honestly, he’s terrified of whatever is about to happen. Maybe Bea took him to Lethe and he remembered everything. Maybe he wants to pick up where they left off. 

Is that what Alex wants, though? It’s been over a year of sheer torture for him––a year of wanting and needing and trying so desperately to not fall apart. But having Henry back in his life doesn’t seem like a good idea, for some reason. Maybe it’s self-preservation or something, but he feels like letting Henry back in might kill him. What happens if they get back together and Henry just leaves him again? Alex doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it, if he’s being honest. Losing Henry is the hardest thing he’s had to go through––he can’t handle it a second time. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

Alex doesn’t think he’s ready for this. 

He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door, his hand shaking slightly as he reaches for the handle. He straightens his posture and bravely opens the door, certainly not ready for whatever the fuck this is about to be. 

Henry stares at him for a moment before he steps inside. 

It makes Alex’s heart ache in his chest when he remembers that Henry probably has no idea that Alex wears glasses. He closes the door and gestures for Henry to take a seat in the sitting area. 

Henry looks so out of place here––his legs are stiffly crossed as he looks around at the place Alex calls home these days. His blue eyes take in the sights of papers, books, coffee cups, and newspapers. Though he can’t explain why, Alex feels self-conscious about winning Henry’s approval for the home he’s made for himself.  
“Don’t I get whiskey?” Henry asks in a weak, forced chuckle as Alex takes a sip from his own glass. 

“Nope,” he says. “I need this to get through whatever this conversation is going to be.” 

Henry frowns for a moment and Alex quickly looks away from him. He knows that face––he knows that it means that Henry feels bad. Even if Alex is heartbroken and upset because of him, he can’t bring himself to look at his fucking guilty face. It makes his stomach go sour at the sight of it. 

“I found something today,” Henry says. 

Alex looks back up at him as Henry reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small stone. He turns it over in his hands before passing it over to Alex. Alex takes it and looks down at the rock. There, in Henry’s neat script, is what he’s suspected Henry wrote down all that time ago.

_Loving Alexander Claremont-Diaz_

He sighs and hands it back to him. “Okay,” he says, unsure of what else to say. 

Henry looks down at the rock then up at him. “We were…together?” 

Alex can’t help but deflate a bit. He had hoped that simply going to Lethe would bring at least some of Henry’s memories back, but it seems like that hope was wrong and naive. He nods instead and takes another sip of whiskey. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He doesn’t want to explain their relationship to Henry who purposefully went and forgot about it. Who went to Lethe for the sole purpose of forgetting about Alex and everything they had together. It hurts too much. 

“Pez tells me that I went to your family’s lake home,” Henry says. “That it was the last time you and I were together. Before I…”

“Fucked off and erased your memory?” Alex snaps, unable to help himself. 

Henry winces again. “I––Yes.” He takes a breath, still fiddling with the rock. “Why did I run away, Alex? Why did I do this? Why would I want to forget you?” His voice breaks at the end of his words and that is, officially, too fucking much for Alex. 

He stands and walks over to the window, unable to look at Henry right now. Regrettably, he feels like he might cry. Instead, he holds his glass of whiskey in a death grip. “I don’t know, Henry,” he admits, staring out at the rainy city sprawling in front of him. “We were together, we were happy, and then you just _left_. I don’t know why.” 

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Henry sighs. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I would never be able to have the kind of love or relationship that I truly desired. And now I find out that I actually got to have that with you and I just…threw it all away? Went and forgot about it? I don’t––I don’t _understand_ any of this, Alex.” 

Alex pointedly does not turn around. Henry is just a reflection in the mirror in front of him. Hazy and, for all he knows, not really here at all. A thousand miles away or right behind him in his apartment––what does it matter? It’s not really _Henry_ anymore, is it? It’s someone who looks like him but isn’t at all the man that Alex fell in love with. A prince who has been more than happy to just keep doing what he’s being told to do. There’s no fire in him anymore. There’s nothing that makes him _Henry_ left in there. And maybe Alex should have seen this coming, but he never knew. How was he supposed to know that Henry loving him was responsible for so much of who Henry is? That Henry loving him made Henry braver and stronger and more passionate? 

“I don’t, either,” Alex admits softly. “I don’t know why you did it.”

He feels Henry behind him now––too close for comfort.

Alex stiffens. 

“We were in love?” 

Alex feels a tear fall down his face. He wipes it away. “Please,” he begs, “don’t make me say it.” 

He hears Henry sniffle. “I need to know,” Henry pleas. “I just––I need to you tell me.” 

“Yes,” he whispers. Then, “No. I mean, I don’t _know_ , H. I loved you. I thought––You left.”

“I know,” Henry says, his voice soft and velvety. “I’m sorry.”

Alex nods and keeps looking away from him, focusing on the city lights, instead.

“It didn’t even work,” Henry tells him. 

Alex turns to face him, utterly confused and, quite frankly, breathless at the implications. “What?” 

Henry goes to take one of Alex’s hands in his own but Alex steps back, removing himself from Henry’s radius. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” Henry admits. “Your eyes, your curls, your smart mouth. Any of it. _You_.”

Alex swallows. He doesn’t know what to say. What is he supposed to say in this situation? Thank you? Could you elaborate? He has no fucking idea where to even start with this.   
“Do you still…love me?” Henry asks so softly that Alex isn’t even sure he asked it in the first place. 

Alex finally turns to face him. There are tears in Henry’s eyes. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t get to wipe those tears away. Not anymore.   
“Yes,” he says, readily. Helplessly. So fucking in love that he wants to cry. 

Henry stares at him for a moment, not saying anything. 

Alex frowns. “Why?” 

For a moment, he swears that Henry’s eyes look down at his lips before looking up again. “Because,” Henry whispers, closer than he’s been in a year, “you’ll be less inclined to be cross with me for this.” 

Alex opens his mouth to ask him to elaborate when he feels Henry’s lips on his own. 

Fuck staying mad at him––fuck his broken fucking heart. Henry’s lips are on his, Henry’s arms are around his waist, and Alex is in love and home and happier than he’s been all year. He returns the kiss readily, deepening it as his hands find their way to Henry’s hair and grab the soft, blond strands between his fingers. It’s been an entire year without this and Alex has had enough of it. 

He goes to move his hands to Henry’s ass when Henry grunts and pulls back, a hand on his head as his entire body contorts in pain. Alex stares at him for a moment, slipping an arm around his waist to keep him upright and steady. 

“You’re okay,” Alex tells him, rubbing his hip. “I’ve got you.” 

Henry nods and opens his eyes, the pain seemingly subsiding. Alex looks at him for a moment, unsure of what to do. 

Henry smiles. 

Not just the man that kissed him. 

_His_ Henry. 

“Love,” Henry says, breathless, “I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr


	9. Reunited

“Love,” he says, breathless, “I remember.”

Alex blinks back at him. His mouth opens and closes a few times.

Henry smiles and kisses the tip of his nose, laughing when he pulls away. Alex is still speechless in front of him and Henry finds the whole thing a bit funny now that he has his memories back. Christ, he was such an idiot. Why did he decide to go to Lethe in the first place? He knows _why_ ––now––but still. When he thinks about his actions that day, he wants to punch his former self in the face. Because now he’s looking at Alex again, all this time later, and he can’t imagine making the same decision again. With Alex’s brown eyes blown wide and confused in front of him, his hair mussed, coffee stains on his sweatshirt, Henry knows that he could never even try to give this up again. So, this time, he lets himself look at Alex and remind himself that he’s too important to lose again.

“What do you mean?” Alex asks him, ever dubious. 

Henry cups his jaw in his hands. “I _remember_. All of it.”

Alex still looks unsure, so Henry kisses him again. It’s soft and lasts only a moment before Henry pulls back again. 

“That night at the lakehouse,” Henry tells him, “you were going to tell me you loved me, weren’t you?” 

Alex averts his eyes but Henry guides his face back up so their eyes meet once more. “ _Yes_ ,” Alex breathes. 

“That’s why I left,” Henry explains. “I didn’t––I thought it would destroy me. Destroy you. Both of us. It was too much for me and that’s why I, like a proper idiot, went and erased my memories.”

Alex frowns. 

“When I first saw that rock today, I assumed I did it because it was unrequited. But it was because you had the absolute audacity to love me back, Alex. That’s why I went to Lethe after the lakehouse. I went because I never thought you––the most beautiful, loving, smartest guy I know––would ever love _me_.” 

Alex lets out a watery laugh and wraps his arms around Henry’s body, his hands finding their way to the nape of his neck and playing with the soft hair there. “Fuck,” he says, still crying, “I love you so much.” 

Henry takes a deep breath. 

He remembers the lake––the glistening water. Alex’s wet curls. The fireflies around them. He remembers the moment where the rest of the world faded away and all that was left was Alex, within arm’s reach, about to tell him the most important thing he could have ever dreamed of hearing in his entire life. He remembers how he knew it was coming and how he ducked under the water just to get away from the reality of that moment––to escape the thought that Alex could actually love him back. 

This time, he doesn’t hide. He takes a deep breath, looks into Alex’s eyes, and knows that he’ll never run again. “I love you.” 

Alex’s lips are on his own the moment the words escape his lips. Henry kisses him back desperately, still wondering how he ever thought he could go a lifetime without _this_. And, now that he has his memories back, he knows that this is what’s been missing for the past year. This whole time, he’s just thought that there was something _off_ about his life. But the truth is that he isn’t truly complete without being completely honest with himself and dealign with his emotions. And the truth is that he’s so madly in love with Alex that it feels like his heart might just burst with the strength of it. Not even forced memory loss was enough to shake Alex out of his mind––he was an idiot to think that it ever would. 

“Are you sure that,” Alex begins, beginning to trail a line of kisses and bites down Henry’s neck, “you remember _everything_?” 

Henry tries to laugh but he’s too far gone for that right now. “A refresher would be nice,” he admits.

Alex pulls back, eyes glistening, and guides Henry to his bedroom. Henry lets Alex throw him down on the mattress and takes in the breathtaking sight of Alex above him with that fucking smirk painted across his lips. Henry can’t stand it––he reaches up, grabbing Alex by the collar of his sweatshirt, and pulls him down into a kiss. Alex doesn’t seem to mind it, based on the way he melts into the movement. Henry smiles as he kisses him, already slipping a hand under Alex’s sweatshirt. Alex pulls back and yanks the bloody thing off of him entirely, throwing it onto the floor. Henry grins at the sight of his chest––which is a bit more muscular than he remembers––flips them over so Alex is below him, and gets to work.

He licks a stripe from Alex’s collarbone to right under his jaw, reveling in the way he can _feel_ Alex moan beneath him. He works his way down his chest, leaving a trail of bites that he soothes over with his tongue. There’s an intent with his movements tonight: marking Alex in every place he can. Even if, somehow, his memories disappear by morning, the marks will remind him of what they did. Of how much Henry loves him. So he takes his time, happy to see Alex writhe beneath him. As much as he loves having his mouth around Alex, he loves torturing him a bit, too. If he had his memories back before he packed to come here, maybe he would have brought his polo uniform with him. 

When he gets to Alex’s trousers, he looks up for a nod of approval. Alex nods, eagerly, so Henry unzips and relieves Alex of his trousers. Alex keeps his hips raised, clearly expecting Henry to take off his pants, too, but Henry isn’t quite ready to give in yet. Instead, he mouths Alex’s erection through his pants––through that thin, cotton fabric. A string of curses flutter out of Alex’s mouth and Henry is so overwhelmed with love for him that he has to stop for a moment, reach up, and kiss him once more. 

He moves back down and sucks on Alex’s thigh, making Alex quiver. 

“Please,” Alex begs. 

Henry takes off his pants, nearly crying at the sight of seeing him completely naked once more. It’s been too long––he’s missed this even if he didn’t quite know it. So he happily takes Alex in his mouth, unable to hold back for another moment. Alex groans as Henry fondles his balls with one hand, pushing his hips down with the other. Even though it’s been a year, his body remembers just how to move to drive Alex wild. He hollows his cheeks and takes him as deep as he can go, pleased when he feels Alex’s hands in his hair. But then, just a moment later, Alex is pulling his hair and telling him to stop. 

“If you keep doing that,” Alex says, breathless, “I’m gonna…and that’s not allowed until I get to see you naked.” 

Henry raises an eyebrow and wipes the corner of his mouth on the back of his hand. “Alright.” 

He strips himself of his clothing, happy when Alex pounces on him the moment he’s undressed. As much as he enjoys feeling Alex’s mouth all over his body, he knows that he won’t be able to last if they carry on like this. 

“I want,” Henry says, cut off by a moan as Alex takes one of his nipples in his mouth. “I want,” he tries again, “you to fuck me.” 

Alex sits up, looking at him quizzically. “You sure?” 

Henry nods. “Positive.” 

Alex leans over to the bedside table and produces a bottle of lube and a condom. 

With one last kiss, Alex moves down and starts fingering him. He uses one finger in the beginning, just to get Henry reacquainted, but Henry needs more. Alex is happy to comply, adding more fingers whenever Henry moans and begs loud enough for his liking. Soon enough, he’s begging for Alex to put the condom on. 

Alex kisses him again and lines himself up so they’re facing each other because, honestly, Henry can’t imagine doing this any other way right now.

When Alex pushes himself inside of Henry, Henry feels the world slot back into place. He nods helplessly, begging for Alex to push in all the way. Alex complies, groaning as he does, and Henry feels like he’s complete once more. 

“Move,” Henry instructs. 

Alex does. 

He moves softly at first, clearly seeing if Henry will ask him to stop. Henry has no such ideas. After a moment, Alex starts to move faster.   
“Christ,” Henry cries out, throwing his head back, “right there.”

Alex moans in response and hits the same spot again and again, each thrust making Henry feel like he’s on top of the fucking world. He can’t help but laugh, though it might actually be a cry, because he’s so in love and he’s so fucking happy to have this again. 

Alex’s hand comes around him, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long for Henry to come. When he does, it’s with happy tears in his eyes. And Alex finishes soon after him, coming with Henry’s names on his lips. 

They melt into the blankets together, laughing and kissing as they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms. And Henry knows that the two of them have a lot to talk about, and he knows that he’ll have to tell the whole bloody world, but for now, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that Alex is in his arms and that, for the first time in a year, Henry knows that everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steamy mcgee
> 
> as always i'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr


	10. Loving You is the Easiest Thing I've Ever Done

Alex wakes up to bright sunlight. Groaning, he rolls over to find Henry so he can kiss him good morning, but Henry’s side of the bed is cool to the touch and Henry isn’t there. Alex sits up and looks around the room for any sign of Henry, but there’s nothing here. Just old mugs, textbooks, and loose papers. Growing anxious, he runs a hand through his hair. He’s hit with the blinding thought that last night must have been a dream. Henry isn’t really here––he’s still an ocean away and doesn’t remember that he and Alex were ever together. His breathing is coming out choppy and fast and his heart is racing in his chest. This has to be the lowest moment of his life. He’s so beyond exhausted and stressed that his brain is playing the cruelest tricks on him.

He’s about to get out of bed to investigate the rest of the small apartment when the door to the bedroom opens and a pink-faced Henry pokes his head inside. There’s a slight smile on his perfect face and, when he steps into the room, Alex sees that he’s holding a small bag and two beverages in to-go cups. 

Alex gets up and crosses the room in an instant, throwing his arms around Henry as soon as he’s close enough. Henry is taken aback but returns the embrace eagerly, burying his head in the crook of Alex’s neck.

“Oh, hello,” Henry says, muffled into Alex’s neck. 

Alex holds him tighter, unsure if he’ll ever be able to let go.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Henry is moving them over to the bed, setting the food and drinks down, and then running his fingers through Alex’s hair. He wipes furiously at his eyes, embarrassed for crying about this.

“Why are you crying, love?” 

Alex lets out a pathetic sniffle. “I thought I dreamt that you came back,” he whispers. He can’t even look into Henry’s eyes right now. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I was only getting breakfast,” Henry tells him, voice soft and gentle as he lightly massages Alex’s neck. 

“But I didn’t _know_ that,” Alex protests. “It’s––This past year has been the worst fucking year of my life, H. And then you came back and were gone in the morning and––” he takes a deep breath and looks into Henry’s eyes. His hands are shaking but he presses on. “I can’t do this.” 

Henry freezes, eyes blown wide. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be with you again,” Alex admits. The words feel like bile in his throat. “I can’t go back to how things were with us. After this past year, I know that I can’t just have some part of you. I––I love you, H, and it’s not fair for either of us to go back to secret rendezvous in hotel rooms and have a relationship buried in secrets and cover-ups.”

“What––”

“And I get that coming out isn’t an option for you. And I’d never force you to do that. But…I can’t do this.” 

“I don’t want to do that, either,” Henry admits. 

Another wave of tears threatens to fall, but Alex pushes them down. This is better for both of them––he knows that. Henry can’t come out and Alex can’t spend the rest of his life in some sort of weird, secret relationship. If they stay together, it’ll tear them both apart. So it’s better like this. He knows that. It’ll suck, but he’s already proved to himself that he doesn’t _need_ Henry to have a good life––he survived a whole year without him. It will suck and he’ll be miserable for a long time, but he thinks that he’ll be able to get over it in time. He has to––it’s his only choice. 

“Right,” Alex says, nodding. “That’s…good. Agreed.” 

Henry’s hands are on his back again, working through the tension in his shoulders. “I mean that I can’t possibly go back to how things were,” Henry explains. “The secrecy and the hiding…I couldn’t do that to either of us again. Not after everything that’s happened. But I want…I want _you_ , Alex. And…” he takes a deep breath. Alex prepares himself for Henry to end it right here––to say the words that set them both free. “I want _this_.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He looks up at Henry and into his big, blue eyes. “ _What_?”

Henry chuckles and threads their fingers together, looking down at their joined hands while he figures out what to say. “I want to do this for real,” he admits. “I don’t want to hide you or our relationship. If that’s okay with you, then––”

He’s unable to finish whatever he was about to say because Alex is kissing him desperately. 

It’s a reality he never thought he’d get to have. Henry is the Prince of Wales––he’s born into a family where, unfortunately, being different isn’t a viable option. Even though he loves and has loved Henry with every part of his heart for so long now, he never imagined that would get this. If they were two normal people, living normal lives, _this_ is what Alex would want to do with his. In any universe, in any lifetime, he’ll always choose Henry. He thinks of the stars in the sky––the stars that stay constant above both London and New York. Sometimes, he thinks of himself as a star. He’s always been a mad comet––always thought himself unable to settle down and have any sort of normal life with someone. But if he’s born of a star, Henry is, too. The same star, he thinks. So, in any time or universe or world, he and Henry will always find their way back to each other. Two halves becoming one once more. The universe completed––everything slotted into place. 

“I love you,” Alex tells him as he pulls away.

“I love you,” Henry replies like it’s the simplest fucking truth in the world  
.   
And, now, Alex thinks that it is. 

He’s spent his whole life with a fire under his ass. He’s overworked himself to try and figure out what his purpose is and how he can do the most good he’s capable of. For a while, he thought the answer was in complicated legal documents or drives for voter registration. And maybe that’s part of it, but that’s just the work. The true purpose of him––the part of himself that unlocks the ability to access the rest of his life and work as hard and as passionately as he does––is love. His love for his family, for the work, for the people he can help, and for Henry. Without Henry, he thinks that the rest of that falls away somehow or maybe it’s just different. But with Henry by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He was a fool to think that he could keep this part of himself buried under textbooks and midnight coffees. 

It’ll be scary and frightening to come out with this information. He won’t lie to himself and pretend otherwise. But, when Henry looks at him with that soft, fond expression in his eyes, Alex knows that every moment of it will be worth it. 

For the first time, they’ll have to figure out how to love each other in plain sight. 

Alex knows they're up for it––that they can do this. 

_Together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andddd that's a wrap!
> 
> this was a short, indulgent thing. I hope you liked it, though!!!
> 
> thanks for reading and, as always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm @bibliothesoph on tumblr!


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